


Sunlight

by Sunshine_lollipops_and



Series: Winter Light [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Female Merlin (Merlin), Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Pining, Sickfic, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:40:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27904615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunshine_lollipops_and/pseuds/Sunshine_lollipops_and
Summary: A patrol gone wrong shows Arthur what's important to him.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: Winter Light [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2045561
Comments: 6
Kudos: 173





	Sunlight

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Thought I'd try my hand at some Merlin. This is fem!Merlin, but if you'd prefer to read it as normal I'm sure that's work fine. Hope you enjoy!

"Good morning, sunshine!"

With an irritated groan, Arthur peels his eyes open to the beaming girl drawing his curtains.

"'s too early, Merlin. G'way."

Her eyes twinkle mischievously.

"Early start, Sire, off sorcerer hunting, don't you remember?"

Another groan.

* * *

They leave before sunrise, which doesn't say much considering it's November. A lord went rogue, tried to kill Uther and then succeeded in killing two guards. Turns out he was a sorcerer. Shoker. There was a reported sighting of him on a remote island in the middle of a lake, a day or so's ride from Camelot.

It's a small party, just he, Merlin, Leon, Percival, and Gwaine. No use leaving the castle unprotected.

"Morning, Princess."

Gwaine is descending towards him, smiling broadly.

"Sir Gwaine," he greets cordially, "strange to see you up so early."

"Well, it's harder to get up for us peasants who don't get to wake up to a face like Merlin's each morning."

He winks, but Arthur doesn't smile back. Maybe he gets the hint, maybe he's just bored, but Gwaine moves on, movie over to the horses. Merlin is over cracking jokes with the stable hands as she tightens saddles and fastens bags, and it's then that Arthur notices she's shivering. he's just about to call over to offer her one of his own thicker cloaks, when Gwaine puts a hand on either of her shoulders, and begins rubbing them to generate warmth. She laughs up at him, and he smiles back.

"Something bothering you, my Lord?"

He jumps as Percival appears from behind him.

"No, nothing at all," he says hastily, turning to Percival. "Are you ready to go?"

"Just thought you ought to know, Sire," he says, totally disregarding Arthur's diverting question, "that Gwaine and Merlin aren't _like that_ , you know?"

"I don't know what you're suggesting, Sir Percival," he says shortly, walking off. 

As if he cares what Gwaine and Merlin are or are not. They can do what they like. Nothing to do with Arthur. 

Leon arrives soon after, which ends the dilly-dallying, and then they're off, riding out into the morning. 

* * *

"And then," snorts Gwaine, to peals of laughter, "she says to me, if you can't pay, you can earn your stay! And I spend the next week as a glorified cloak stand with a mop at the door!"

The group dissolves into laughter, and to be fair, it is one of Gwaine's funnier stories. Merlin's head is thrown back, and she's making that gasping for breath laugh, hair swinging behind her.

* * *

They're lucky enough to catch a hare early in the day, so when they break for lunch several hours later they're treated to Merlin's stew. The meal carries the good mood for a few hours linger, but as the dark clouds roll in, the atmosphere dies down a little. 

* * *

They see the lake from a good way away. Onyx black and opaque, the path to it is impossibly thin, the island in the middle shrouded in fog.

He slides from his horse to test the soil with his boot. It disintegrates into the water at the edges with the pressure, through its width leaves little choice as to where to stand.

"Dismount," he orders, "we continue on foot."

The sun is low and bright, a true November sky, as they trudge along, leading the horses across narrow path and dissolving ground. The rain begins as a gentle misty drizzle, rising and rising into a drumming of liquid bullets, soaking him through in seconds. 

He can focus only on his own feet, placing them surely and steadily, gambling that the soil will not crumble beneath him. 

Once or twice, his judgement betrays him and his ankle twists he almost falls into the depths. He regains his balance, and continues. 

Many more times, he hears the curse of a knight ahead of him as they lose their footing, and most commonly, Merlin's startled yelps from behind. Each time his breath catches in his throat, waiting for a splash that doesn't come.

The path is long, and he's exhausted by the time the ground rises in front of him to mark the island.

Leon, Gwaine, and Percival are already finished, climbing back upon their mounts to begin the search.

Damn him to hell, it's now his horse chooses to spook at whatever it senses beyond the fog, and it catches him off guard. He falls, onto the safety of solid ground, and as if time has slowed, he sees a hoof rear and lash out, catching Merlin in the head. The rain beats down, but he still hears the splash as her body crumples and slips under the surface of the water.

Time stays slow, as Arthur pulls his cloak from his shoulders and throws his chainmail to the floor. To the shouts of his men, he dives headfirst into the deep.

It's cold, so cold, beyond anything he's felt before. His limbs freeze, and he fights not to release his breath in a reflexive gasp at the ice seeping into him. But he moves, because below him he can see a billowing blue dress, and as he forces his body further down he can see the snow white face accompanying it, lax and ethereal. It's eerie. (1)

Arthur doesn't waste time. With one arm pulling Merlin to his chest, and the other violently scratching at the water, he gives everything he has to propel his tired body upwards, towards the fading light glimmering on the surface of the water. His lungs burning, he lets out his breath, watching the bubbles rise further away, and his gaze slips back down to Merlin's face. He closes his eyes.

* * *

Just as he starts to relax, many hands are on him, grabbing and pulling. All he knows is to hold onto her. To keep her safe. And then he is gasping, for there is cold, sweet air all around him, and he can't get enough of it, spluttering what must be half the lake from his throat. 

"-her go, Sire! She's not breathing!"

He comes to awareness with Leon shouting too close to his face, while Gwaine and Percival attempt to prise a limp Merlin from his grasp. He releases her immediately, gaping like a simpleton as they roll her onto her back and Percival begins violently pumping her chest, interrupting with breaths. Leon is still in his face.

"Sire?" 

He can't look away from her.

"Sire we must get you warm."

Gwaine is crying.

"Arthur?"

And then, after too long, she is moving, hacking and coughing with enough force to rip open her chest. It goes on for some time, the harsh, throaty noise, until finally her chin dips again, and Gwaine pulls her into him, sobbing on her shoulder.

The feeling in his chest is like he's empty, but in a good way. Something different rises in the pit of his stomach as Gwaine kisses her forehead, but he's numb now. He lets Leon lead him away.

* * *

Leon is trying to pull a dry tunic over his head, while Gwaine and Percival struggle in much the same way with a lax Merlin. They're trying to dress her with their eyes averted, and it's clearly a new kind of challenge of dexterity and spatial awareness.

* * *

Eventually, he blinks to find himself leaning up against a tree, beside the fire, too cold to move, but drier. He's wrapped in blankets and cloaks, and Merlin is tucked in tight to his side, dressed in Percival's spare clothes. She must have lost her own pack to the lake. The tunic is huge, the trousers comically so, but he can't find it in himself to laugh as she lays there, blood leaking through the dressing on her forehead. Leon appears.

"How do you feel, my Lord?"

He makes a noncommittal grunt.

"I have broth here, you must eat."

He nods.

He takes the bowl from Leon, fighting to untangle his arms from the swathes of blankets. Leon takes Merlin's chin in his hand and spoons broth into her mouth, coaxing her to swallow as he speaks.

"Sir Gwaine and Sir Percival are searching the island, Sire, but I doubt they will find anything. We were not attacked while we were vulnerable earlier, so I suspect the sorcerer has moved on. You seem to have warmed well, Sire. You should be strong enough to ride at dawn."

"And Merlin?" he rasps.

"Merlin-" Leon swallows, turning to meet Arthur's gaze, "her injury is severe, and she has not yet regained consciousness. I fear hypothermia also. We will get her to Gaius. You must sleep now Sire, rest for the journey tomorrow."

Leon takes the bowl from him again, lowering him and Merlin to lie flat, bringing the blankets back up round his throat. Leon gives a nod, leaving to the other side of the fire. 

The air is biting, and there are no stars in the sky. 

The rain has stopped. 

It is too still. 

* * *

His body is reluctant to relax, but at some point he must slip into sleep, because suddenly Merlin fills his head, she's ethereal in a billowing dress again, but this time its not because she's slipping further from his reach, but because she's walking down the great hall, and the dress is velvet, with a veil and a tiara and a train, walking towards him, beaming, taking his hand, and-

He jolts awake. Gwaine nods at him from across the camp. The others are up, fastening saddles and packing supplies. 

Arthur cranes his head down, to identify the source of heat on his chest. It's- Merlin. She's still asleep, having shifted in the night to rest half upon him. There's colour back in her face, but it looks wrong. Aside from the high, pink flushes in her cheeks, she's pallid, and shining in sweat. She mumbles quietly, in a restless doze.

"You ready to go, Princess?"

Gwaine is smiling at him, but he sees the worry in his eyes.

He nods, sitting up with a groan, pulling Merlin with him. She's not much help.

Leon and Percival return, and he finds he's able to climb onto his horse unaided. Unprompted, the others manoeuvre Merlin upwards to sit in front of him, leaning against his chest. And then they are off.

Percival leads their horse across the narrow lake path, and Arthur must doze because the next thing he sees is the valley before him. He's pleased to find that he's no longer cold, until he realises that's not because the weather is warmer, but because Merlin is burning up against him. At his call, Percival trots up from behind, reaching a hand across to feel Merlin's forehead. A man who did not know Percival so well would fail to notice the concern creased between his eyes.

They do not rest for lunch. Merlin grows worse, beginning to weakly twist, until she's almost thrashing. After she almost falls off, he releases her to Gwaine. Her head rests back against his shoulder. Someone has plaited her hair. 

The sun begins to set as the palace walls rise against the orange sky. With final glance back at Merlin, Percival takes off to warn Gaius ahead of their arrival of the situation. 

Those last two hours seem to drag the longest. Too restless to attempt to sleep again, Arthur can only watch Merlin writhe, face twisted against an invisible agony, as Gwaine whispers gently in her ear. Sometimes she collapses back again, like a puppet with its strings cut, but that doesn't stop her cries, for people Arthur had never met or heard of, for her mother, for Gaius, for Gwen. 

Until then they are there. It's dark, and the streets are bare, too late for the throngs of market people, too early for the tavern goers to stumble home. They reach the steps, and Leon stands to catch Merlin as Gwaine lowers her from his saddle. In his arms, he can see how truly small she is, and Leon carries her like a babe, up the steps, disappearing into the castle. 

With an unusual gentleness, Gwaine walks Arthur back to his own chambers, where a steaming bath has been drawn for him. He's told that his father will speak to him after he has rested. A servant hands him some sort of potion he says is from Gaius.

He drinks it.

He sleeps. 

There are no dreams. 

* * *

He can tell it's late when he wakes. The sun is up, and the usual hustle and bustle of the castle makes itself known from outside his room. A knock at his door reveals Leon.

"Good morning, Sire," he greets, betraying nothing with his face. "You have no official duties to attend to today, as we were not supposed to return until tomorrow. Your father requests your presence before luncheon, and Gaius says you are welcome to stop by if you... need anything."

"Merlin?"

"Critical but stable, my Lord. Gaius is doing all that he can."

He nods. Leon bows out the door.

His meeting with his father is as expected. Fervent demands for any news on the sorcerer, until he seems to guiltily remember that it was an unplanned return, and he awkwardly offers concern for his health.

He skips lunch, having eaten a late breakfast, and heads to Gaius' chambers. He walks with purpose, but falters at the door, unsure of how to explain himself. Just as he raises his hand to knock, it opens, and Gaius emerges. 

"Oh," he says, "do come in Sire, I will be right with you. I just need to call a servant to fetch me some water."

He hollers down the corridor as Arthur steps inside. A guard comes running, probably with the same instincts Arthur learned young; do what Gaius says, or face _the eyebrow_.

Merlin is on the patient bed. The fire is blazing, and she's covered in more thin ratty blankets than he can count. Gwaine is sat at her side, holding her small hand between his two rough ones. She's still babbling softly, turning her head back and forth. The stark bandage across her head is the same colour as her skin.

He sits on her other side. She opens her eyes, briefly, and they meet his, fever bright and confused. 

Gaius puts a cup of tea in front of him.

"Rather severe, I'm afraid," he begins, knowing not to sugarcoat. "Her concussion is worrying, and combined with the hypothermia and the broken ribs, it's quite overwhelming to the-"

"Broken ribs?"

"From the resuscitation, Arthur," he says patiently, but for a second Arthur's breath catches as he remembers her lying still and pale on the cold ground, while Percival thumped her chest. "All I can do is my utmost to prevent any kind of infection, as that would be difficult to fight off in her weakened state."

Gwaine gets up. Arthur notices the wet track running down his cheek.

"I've got training," he says, "but I'll be back sometime later. Thanks, Gaius."

Gaius nods at him, before excusing himself to run his own errands. 

Hesitantly, Arthur takes the hand that Gwaine so carefully tucked back under the blankets. It's warm, and soft as he presses a kiss to it. 

* * *

He wakes up, once again confused and trying to account for lost time. It's dark again, and there's a crick in his neck. He'd fallen asleep in the chair.

He stretches upwards with a quiet groan. Gaius gives rumbling snores from across the room. He's about to put his head back down, when- no, it can't-

Merlin's gone.

Tearing out of the room, he hears Gaius startle from behind him. Guards shout after him, and suddenly the alarm is going. What if the sorcerer took her? Killed her like the others? What if-?

He screeches to a halt as he rounds the corner to the great hall. Because there stands Merlin.

But it's not quite Merlin. This Merlin has her shoulders back, jaw squared, and for a moment he forgets that she's a critically ill young girl, thin and kind and a head shorter than him, because there is some sort of power coming from her. And no, not the magic kind, the kind that comes from a deep confidence. A deep wisdom. 

She turns to look at him, and it's then that he sees the sorcerer (!?!) crumpled at her feet. She takes one step, before her knees buckle, but Arthur's there before they can hit the flagstones. He carefully controls her fall, supporting her head as it lolls back in his hand. It is then that the Guards burst in, dragging away the sorcerer and shouting all sorts of things that he should probably be paying attention to, but he can't because Merlin is lying boneless and shivering in his arms.

A guard offers to take her, but Arthur brushes him off, hoisting her up with one arm beneath her knees and another round her shoulders. Her head falls against his shoulder. He takes off again, trying not to jostle her but too concerned with getting her back to Gaius to waste time walking. 

Without a word, he lays her back down on the cot and Gaius descends upon her, with practiced speed and skill that hurts his brain. He helps, occasionally, turning her onto her side, supporting her neck, holding her steady. In between he holds her hand. When Gaius finally steps back, he looks graver.

"I fear she's caught pneumonia," he says. 

Arthur's heart sinks.

"It was likely, with the broken ribs and the hypothermia. This little... outing, must have sapped the last of her energy. Oh Merlin, you _foolish_ girl."

He whispers the last bit, but Arthur needs to understand.

"What was she doing?"

Gaius sighs. 

"I don't know Sire."

He obviously does, but Arthur learned long ago not to try and persuade him of anything.

"How... how serious is it?"

This time Gaius takes a sniff. His professional mask seems to slip a little.

"Grave," he says shortly. "This is a terrible strain on the body, and it is easy to simply-" He shakes himself a little. "Merlin has strength, Sire. We have both seen it. It would not be like her to back down from a fight."

He nods. What else is there to say? 

"I must rest, Sire. I fear she will need constant attending soon, and I will need my own strength. You may stay as long as you please."

Arthur nods again, as Gaius moves towards his bed and lies down. He doesn't start to snore for a very long time.

* * *

The next morning brings a high fever. His father attempts to persuade him back into his duties ("you have knights to attend to Arthur, never mind a serving girl") but he cannot be moved. There is a hypnotic rhythm in soaking a rag, mopping her forehead, soaking it again... Gwen, as the next knowledgeable in medicine after Gaius and Merlin, is there, released from her usual duties to work shifts until... until Merlin's better. 

He hears that the sorcerer confessed. He'd been plotting (suprise suprise) to take over Camelot, with some sort of mind control spell, to force Uther to relinquish power to him, and erase any questions in the minds of the people. Needless to say, it had been a rather ambitious plan, but Arthur was glad it had gone untested. No news on who it was that apprehended the man, left him unconscious but unharmed on the floor.

He can't shake that image of Merlin standing over him.

Merlin muttered those first days. Now she screams. Arthur learns uncomfortable things over those hours, as she cries out for her father (but she told him they'd never met?), in anger at someone called Kilgarrah, and then in a language he's never heard. Gaius ushers him out at this point, saying he needs some space to work for a while. Some of the potions make her sleep, and she lies uncharacteristically still for those hours, barely twitching. Others make her dreams even more vivid, and she thrashes about, in agony for an escape He doesn't know which is worse. 

* * *

Two days later, he knows which is worse. Late that night, one of the rare occasions he'd been sleeping, her fever rose higher again. The thrashing and delirium died down, leaving her... just still. Sunk back into the bed, hair lank, face coated in a fine sheen of sweat. The only indication of life is her shallow breathing, rattling and slow. There is no change. The energetic Merlin of.. before, is unimaginable. Her vitality, her voice. All he has now is silence.

* * *

It's the evening of the sixth day. Gaius is sleeping up the rickety stairs, in Merlin's bed. For some privacy. Gwen is gathering firewood with Gwaine, to keep the room warm. He's never seen Gwaine so quiet. He suddenly looks old, slow and drawn, and he only speaks to whisper in Merlin's ear when he is sat beside her.

"This really has gone on long enough," he whispers to her. "My chambers are an unbelievable mess."

No movement.

"And it's rather annoying, you know, having to look after you all day. You're my servant, not the other way round."

Nothing.

"Things are wrong. It's too quiet in the morning. It's too quiet all day. Nobody sings while they clean. Nobody jabbers on and on about some rubbish while I'm trying to concentrate. Nobody calls me a clotpole.

"Everyone's miserable too. Gwen cries when she thinks no one's looking. So does Gwaine. Gaius only sleeps when Gwen makes him. Percival is up here all the time, you know, waiting for you to stop being lazy and wake up. So's Leon. And Gods, Merlin, everytime I walk out the door half the castle is asking me how you are. Gaius has to send _back_ gifts from the kitchen, there's too much broth for anyone to ever eat. 

"And I miss you too. Just a little. But Gods Merlin, I've seen now, now that you're gone. You're all I have. You're everything I have. And I can't go on like this."

His hand finds its way to the side of her face. Her perfect, beautiful, kind face. 

"You have to wake up. Please."

He squeezes her hand.

And just as his tear drips from his chin into her face, his hand is squeezed back.

Two, brilliantly blue eyes blink up at him. They're clouded by sleep, and lingering fever, and a muddled exhaustion, but they are Merlin and Gods are they alive.

"I missed you too" comes the quiet reply, no louder than a breath, but it's enough for Arthur to lean down and press his lips against hers. It's gentle, oh so gentle, but it is nothing like he's ever felt before. It's sunlight.

He pulls away as her eyes flutter shut, but she gives him one last sweet smile before she drifts off again.

* * *

Days later, Arthur sits with her. Still weak and tired, but the mischief is back in her eyes, and she's teasing Arthur like nothing's changed. To her it hasn't. 

He hadn't wondered, in the next few days, why no gazes passed between them, no shift in dynamic. She was completely exhausted, and slept a great deal in between relieved visits from everyone she knew. But then as the days wore on, and still she made no indication of... of whatever passed between them that night, it occured to him that she didn't remember. Of course she didn't. She'd just woken from a borderline comatose state, barely conscious for a minute. Of course she didn't remember. 

But something stirs differently in Arthur when the sun falls across her skin, and it's honey bright and warm in his chest, like Merlin's singing as she works, like her playful shove to his arm, like her laugh ringing out like a bell. It's hope in the pit of his stomach, an ache he feels only when she smiles. 

She chatters on, about Gaius' potions and other foul things, and he's content to let the words wash over him, soothing and melodic. One day, he'll have another sunlight kiss. When she is ready.

**Author's Note:**

> (1) this was the scene that made me want to write this - I had a dream, and I just had to write the billowing dress and stillness.  
> Hope you enjoyed! I'm hoping to write a sequel before Christmas, so let me know if you'd like that :) thanks so much for reading, and happy holidays or whatever you celebrate to you! X


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